I nodded. “Sepsis had set in on my leg, which made me miscarry.”

“And your husband died,” Grace said.

I stared into the fire for a moment. “No,” I said softly. “He was hurt, but he recovered. He blamed me. For . . . everything. He divorced me. That’s what put me over the edge.”

Grace leaned forward. “So Shadow Woman wasn’t really Mae Haas. It’s really you who’s been living in the shadows.”

I nodded. “The shadow of guilt, fear, and shame.”

In the distance came the most wonderful sound in the world, the chuff, chuff, chuff of helicopters. “Help will be here soon,” Grace said, then stood and walked over to Roy. The two of them left to direct the arriving officers and medical staff.

Maverick jumped to his feet and trotted into the night.

Bram reached over and squeezed my hand. “What now, Darby Graham?”

My eyes blurred. I knew what he was asking. “I don’t know. Maybe see what God has in store for me. Check out the promise of Jeremiah 29:11. Hope and a future.”

The helicopters were close enough that speaking was difficult.

All that had happened seemed like a dream. Someone had been able to ride for help. Peter and Stacy? Wyatt? Liam? Whoever it was, uniformed officers and EMTs soon swarmed us. I was grateful when Roy and Grace explained what happened. I was too exhausted to talk.

The EMTs checked Cookie, then Bram. I scooted away so they could have access to him. They called for stretchers, and Angie, Bram, and Cookie were whisked away to the medivac chopper.

An officer finally came over to where I was still sitting on the ground. “The sheriff is going to have a lot of questions for you.”

I nodded.

He bent down and lifted me as if I weighed nothing. “Come along then.” He didn’t put me down until he had me strapped into a police copter.

Epilogue

Eighteen months later

Mule Shoe Ranch

“Why are those dogs barking?” The teenage girl stared at Maverick and Holly, now howling under a pine tree.

“You’ll soon find out.” I held up my clipboard. “Name?”

The earthquake hit before she could answer. She squealed and sat on the ground clutching her rolled-up sleeping bag. All of the young campers grabbed each other or their assorted luggage while the ground briefly shook.

When the quaking stopped and the dogs ceased their barking, I blew a whistle to gain their attention. Grace, wearing khaki Bermuda shorts, hiking boots, and a Camp Mule Shoe polo shirt, stepped forward. “Welcome, campers. Don’t worry about the earthquake. They’re common here. We’re less than five miles from the edge of the Yellowstone caldera, the so-called Yellowstone supervolcano.”

One young girl raised her hand. “What’s a supervolcano?”